


Come and take choice (of all my Library)

by RainingPrince, TheNoctambulist



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Library, Anathema and Newt have a kid, Books, Crowley & Anathema Device Friendship, Crowley Has a Pet Snake (Good Omens), Epistolary, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Illustrated, Includes Art, Libraries, Pen Pals, References to Shakespeare, Strangers to Friends, Viciously ripping into fictional books, romcom vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNoctambulist/pseuds/TheNoctambulist
Summary: Crowley hadn’t exactlymeantto check for a reply, but you know that feeling; the one that tells you“just check your ex’s page one more time, just to be sure they’re as miserable as you are.”The one that whispers“It can’t hurt to check back on that reddit thread, your question was innocuous enough.”The one that tempts you into reading all the comments on a post about a celebrity marrying her girlfriend of six years;“it’s such a happy occasion, who would actually bother trying to ruin it?”Call it morbid curiosity. He’s got that in spades.~A look at the psychology of bad decisions, good decisions, face painting, and learning not to judge a book by its cover.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Crowley & Newton Pulsifer, Crowley & Original Child Charater
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: AJ Squared, Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by: this gif of Jodie Foster I found by accident but it made me laugh so now you have to look at it  
> 
> 
> This story was written by AJ/RainingPrince, while the fantastic art was supplied by Anna/TheNoctambulist. A big shoutout to burnttongueontea for being an invaluable beta-reader and occasional britpicker, you helped out so much!! Additional beta readers as-needed include Vecieminde, and Dashicra1 from the diws discord!
> 
> [The following story is marked as Teen and up for swearing and some additional content. It is all very mild, but if you would like to look at content warnings, feel free to check out the end notes.]

“Just this one, please,” Crowley huffed, already antsy and ready to get home. He had one night to read the book before Sage came over, expecting her Uncle Ant to help with a school project. He was just grateful Anathema had texted him the title because he had absolutely already forgotten by the time he got to the library, and had spent almost a full hour scouring the kids section before a helpful volunteer pointed him in the direction of YA. He desperately needed a pint of ice cream and his record player.

“Do you have a library card?”

He paused, brow furrowed. “Wot?”

“A card, a library card,” the short woman behind the counter told him. 

Crowley blinked, taking in her almost painfully colorful visage in startled curiosity. She had a riot of clown-orange hair clearly full of hairspray, gaudy purple eyeshadow, and an accent that suggested she’d had to work at it. Her name tag read ‘Marjorie’ in somewhat shaky but still legible handwriting. “A card,” he repeated.

“You’ll need one to check that out, it’s library policy,” she answered patiently.

“Alright… Can I please get a library card?”

“I’ll need to see proof of address.”

Baffled, Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek false leather wallet, and pulled out cards at random until he found a driver’s license. “Will this do?”

“Sure!” Marjorie took the offered card and began typing the information into the ancient desktop. “Mr. James F. Reed,” she murmured, and Crowley fought hard to stifle a wince.

He’d forgotten he still had that, it had been a couple years since he’d used it. Nodding stiffly, he lied “That’s me,”

“What’s the F stand for?” She asked breezily.

“Just an F, really.” There was absolutely no way in hell he was going to tell her what it really meant*.

She didn’t seem to mind, simply typed away for a couple of minutes before handing the card back and asking some additional questions. When she was done, she reached under the counter and pulled out a small piece of plastic, scanned it into the computer, and clicked a few times before handing it over. “Please sign the back.”

As soon as the card was in his hand he signed it with a flourish, and handed it back to her on top of the book. “Check me out, Marjorie.”

The moment he got home that night, Crowley shoved some leftovers into the oven, made sure the snake had fresh water, popped the top off a new pint of ‘triple-chocolate-fudge brownie’ and got to work; opening the book and a legal pad to take notes.

* * *

It was truly a terrible book, even for a YA. Why anyone would have published this drivel he could not fathom, and he quickly realized that most of his notes were not exactly relevant or appropriate for a Secondary School book report. The book itself seemed a little mature for a 13-year-old but he wasn’t about to question Anathema’s parenting choices. It took him 8 hours just to read the thing, but another two and a half just to pare his notes down to something he could use with Sage. He knew the kid was frighteningly smart, but even he wasn’t sure she needed to know all the little details his mind was already running away with.

By the time he was finished, it was nearing 8am, the sun was well on its way into the sky, and he hadn’t slept a wink. Groaning, he dropped his pen and cursed his over-analytical mind, the author, anyone who had ever unironically used the word “dashing” and the entire publishing industry for good measure. At least he had until school was out for the day. He went to bed.

* * *

  


* * *

  
“So did you like it?” Anathema whispered several hours later, elbowing Crowley as the two of them watched Sage clear off the kitchen table.

"Like what?"

"The book," she reminded him with a long-suffering sigh.

“It was terrible.” He whispered back. “I hated every second of it.”

“Oh, thank fuck!” She laughed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “I had a hard time believing the school would let her read that. Of course, she can read whatever she wants, but I was very surprised she felt so passionate about that one.”

“I know, that’s why I couldn’t tell her anything,” he confessed. “I have a whole stack of notes in the other room that I didn’t have the heart to show her.”

“Can I see them?”

“Sure, after dinner. _If_ you let her watch an episode of She-Ra so she’s distracted.”

Anathema’s eyes narrowed. “Did she talk you into that?”

“Take it or leave it.” He grinned.

* * *

After dinner, Sage got to watch not one but two episodes of She-Ra, while Crowley, Anathema and Newt sat in the kitchen over the notes.

“So that’s what I’ve got so far. I’ve written several versions of this, and have been considering trying to find the right forums online to post them. Really, people deserve the warning, it’s a terrible book. Do you know of any websites for that?” 

“Crowley, honey,” Anathema began, “you know how sometimes you say something and I tell you ‘That’s mean, and not going to get you the kind of response you’re hoping for?’ and how I’m usually right?”

“Ugh, don’t say it!” Crowley begged, leaning his head back dramatically.

“She’s right, you know.” Newt piped up.  
  
“You’re just saying that because she’s your wife.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true, AJ. We’ve been here before.” Anathema sighed exaggeratedly and put her drink down. She leaned forward and rested her chin on a fist. “Remember the grape soda incident?”

“Oh pleaaaaasee don’t remind me,” Crowley groused. “Will you ever let that die?”

The tiny smirk was answer enough, but she still spoke. “The internet never forgets these things, so obviously I can’t either.”

“The point is,” Newt piped up, “if you want to avoid another grape soda incident, you probably want to start thinking thrice about posting things online where anyone can see them.”

“Thrice?” Crowley placed a hand on his chest. “Why thrice?”

“Have you met you?” Anathema snorted.

“What about places where they encourage honest reviews?”

“Is it an honest review? Or is it you tearing it apart because you’re a picky bastard?”

“Newt, language!” Anathema gasped, and all three of them laughed. “Also, ‘honest reviews’ is usually a euphemism for ‘unchecked hostility’ and I don’t think you want to go there anyway. I know you pride yourself on your particular brand of mischief, and I won’t lie and say it’s not amusing...”

“You’ve helped out with plenty of said mischief, you couldn’t get away with that lie if you tried.”

“True,” she held up her glass, “but there’s a fine line between mischief and hostility, and I’d rather you stay on this side of it. If you seek out those spaces - online or otherwise - it’ll suck you in. Six weeks from now I’ll have to cut you off your office chair and drag you to a therapist.”

“You’re right, of course you’re right.” Crowley sighed, slouching implausibly against his chair. “You’re insufferable, why do I hang out with you?”

“Because she makes the best empanadas. And she’s uncannily good at calling you out on your bullshit.” Newt offered.

This time, Anathema pinched Newt’s thigh. “Comes from knowing him so long. You get used to each other’s idiosyncrasies.”

“You’re probably the only reason I know what that word means, witch.” Crowley snorted.

“Will you post it?” She gave him A Look, one he knew well. A Look that stripped him bare, held him hostage, and made him unspeakably proud to know her at once.

“No. No, I won’t post it.”  
  


* * *

“Can I go home with Tohru after school tomorrow?” Sage asked as she put her shoes on. “She said her mom’s going to make biscuits and asked if I wanted to help.”

“I don’t see why not, Peanut.” Newt smiled, patting his daughter’s head and running his fingers through her hair. “Make sure you bring her blue coat with you, it’s still in the foyer.”

“Don’t forget your backpack, kid.” Crowley picked up the blighty-colored microfiber monstrosity that the kid insisted on bringing everywhere and held it out to her. It was purple, with spots and spikes, and he was fairly certain Sage had said it was supposed to resemble a dinosaur, but he had a hard time seeing it.

Instead of immediately grabbing the backpack, Sage reached out and wrapped her arms around Crowley’s hips. “Thank you for helping with my project,” she said, and looked up at him. “Can I come back next week for a sleepover?”

Crowley looked down at the kid’s big, brown eyes and tried so very hard not to melt. Helpless, he looked to Anathema, who was smirking at him. She glanced to Newt, who shrugged, and nodded her assent. “Sure, kid,” he said with a grin.

“Sweet!” Sage released him, heading for the front door. “Bye, Ant!”

As soon as the door was shut and locked behind them, Crowley took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, and let it out.

He returned to the kitchen, heading for the sink and the remaining unwashed dishes, but he found his eyes drawn straight back to his notes. He stood there for several moments, just thinking, observing pages and pages of scribbled vitriol. The paper just sat there, staring blankly back at him. It almost felt… accusing, their total lack of animation.

“Oh, come off it,” he hissed, waving a hand dramatically through the air. Some of the pages fluttered weakly.

Several more seconds of fuming later he sat back down, snarling to himself about “doesn’t count as posting it if it’s not online,” and “saving the next poor sucker some time,” as he grabbed a pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * James Fucking Reed. He'd been 27, not entirely paying attention, and his friends at the time had egged him on for weeks. The person he'd got the fake from had also thought it was hilarious, and still calls him James whenever they see each other.


	2. Aziraphale

  
Aziraphale scanned another book from the drop-off, humming to himself as he worked. The sun was bright, streaming in through the windows to bounce off the carpet, giving the entire library a healthy golden glow.

There were kids in the library, at least two dozen of them, all crowded around Tracy as she told a tall tale from a picture book in her lap. A friend of hers sat beside her, signing exaggeratedly for a couple kids near the front, and a bowl of dragon tears* was being passed around while the kids listened with rapt attention.

He loved Saturdays.

He’d just picked up another return, checking expertly for damage when he found it. Just inside the dust jacket of the worn-down copy of “Delas Monja” was taped (Tape! In the books!) a piece of paper onto which was scribbled the following:  
  


> This book is an absolute disgrace. Let me break it down for you. Spoiler alerts ahoy.
> 
> First of all, the main character Haden has absolutely no personality. He is a two-dimensional self-insert with no agency and no clear motivations. In act one; he responds to another character stealing food by turning the other cheek and distracting the shopkeepers. Clearly this is supposed to be some sort of virtue signal, a way to let you know that he’s a sympathetic character with “a heart of gold.”
> 
> So why in act 3 does he turn Jalonya in to the authorities for the exact same crime? Yes, the situation is different, she stole from Tava, but just because Tava is Haden’s friend doesn’t mean she wasn’t hungry. He could just as easily have turned her away or given her some bread, or let Tava know and he could handle it. It’s sloppy, and out-of-character.
> 
> Second, he’s living a fantasy. The entire plot is a blatantly typical wish-fulfillment wrapped up in feel-good prose. A life of mediocrity does not a warrior make, he’s got no training and no experience with war, and he makes this painfully obvious every time he and K’tor clash. What is the point of a test to determine the purest heart in the land if someone as painfully average as this bloke manages to win?
> 
> Third, Jalonya is an absolutely brilliant woman who didn’t deserve Haden nor did they have any real chemistry. Their discomfort with each other through the book magically just “falls away” in act 6 despite him _literally getting her thrown into jail_. She should have run away as soon as she got out.
> 
> Fourth, not nearly enough queerness, personal opinion. I don’t know if I’ve made it clear that Haden makes me want to rip the book to shreds just to shut him up but he and K’tor had a dynamic that could have been interesting enough to save the book if properly explored. There was a line about “Just you wait, newbie. We’ll turn you yet.” I would pay good money to see an alternate timeline where that had happened.
> 
> tldr; don’t waste your time. 

Well. We’ll see about _that._

He pulled the note out (as carefully as he could, wincing at the smallest signs of damage to the inside cover) and stuffed it in his interior pocket. No one really needed to see that!

Incensed, he scanned the book in, and caught sight of the name on the account. “James Reed,” he hissed. “More like ‘Rapscallion!’ The nerve!” He made note of its condition (otherwise fair, though no less than it had been previously) and added it to the pile on the other side of the desk with perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary. As well as the next three books in the stack.

As soon as he realized what he had done he felt a little guilty, giving the book on top an apologetic pat before heaving a deep sigh. He waved and caught Marjorie’s attention from the other side of the room, and signaled to her he’d take a quick break, and she nodded as she continued her epic tale.

Once outside, Aziraphale could feel the cool, crisp breeze in his curls, and the very faint touch of sunlight on his skin. He smiled, pulling a cigarette box out of his pocket and lighting one up.

He couldn’t help but think back to that note in the book. It wasn’t a book he had read yet (he had been through much of the Library but due to the nature of the space some titles took longer than others), but he almost wanted to read it just to spite this mystery heckler.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Aziraphale nearly dropped his cigarette, spluttering and coughing as he tried to recover from such a bad start. “Give someone a little warning next time!” he complained.

“Sorry,” came the sheepish reply.

Once he’d managed to catch his breath, Aziraphale looked up to see a young woman with long brown hair and wide glasses. She looked a bit like she’d lost a fight with a charity shop but wore it well.

He took another drag before responding to her. “What was your question?”

“I asked what had you smiling,”

“Ah.” Aziraphale thought for a moment about his answer. “I was thinking about what I’d like to read next. I think I have it picked out.”

“Sounds like an adventure. Can I bum one of those?”

He didn’t answer her, but he did pull another from his pocket for her. “Did I see you inside earlier?”

“My little one loves story time. We’ve been coming for a few months now.” She took the cigarette and smiled as he lit it for her. “Thanks.”

“Certainly!” They smoked in silence for a few minutes.

When she’d gotten about halfway through, the stranger pinched out the cigarette, pulled out a little tin (were those candies or strangely shaped rocks? He only caught a glimpse) and placed it inside. “For later.”

He nodded, taking another drag and holding it as long as he could.

When he let it out, she asked, “How long have you worked here? I feel like I’ve been seeing you around forever.”

He let out his breath slowly, and she waited patiently until he answered. “I’d say perhaps… thirty years? Books have been a lifelong passion.”

“Oh same.” The stranger turned around and sat down on a bike rack, balancing a little precariously before she set her feet down. “Why a library?”

“People bring them back. After a few rereads they begin to feel…” Aziraphale trailed off, momentarily befuddled. “Familiar?”

“Like friends,” she supplied.

“Exactly!” He flicked the ash off his cigarette, warmed by the flicker of camaraderie. “Like friends. It’s hard to see them go. At least here, they come back eventually.”

“I have a few books like that for me.” She scuffed one heel on the ground absently. “I keep them in my room, and when I think about fire drills or evacuation plans it’s hard to think of leaving them behind.”

Aziraphale grimaced. “I know what you mean. It’s hard to think about. Some characters begin to feel like family. A fact of life.”

“Hmm,”

They said nothing more, after that. After a few moments, the stranger slipped off the bike rack and headed back inside. She turned to wave, and he returned the gesture, and then she was gone.

* * *

That night, Aziraphale sat in his flat; book open in front of him taking hastily written notes in mostly tidy handwriting. Eventually, his tea grew cold and the record player played its last few chords and went silent unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Tiny little glass drops, often come in a wide variety of bright colors and opacities, usually smooth. Not much bigger than an average adult fingertip. Like a marble only melted, with a flat bottom. I grew up with these everywhere at my school.


	3. Crowley

Crowley hadn’t exactly _meant_ to check for a reply, but you know that feeling; the one that tells you “ _Just check your ex’s page one more time, just to be sure they’re as miserable as you are._ ” The one that whispers “ _It can’t hurt to check back on that reddit thread, your question was innocuous enough._ ” The one that tempts you into reading all the comments on a post about a celebrity marrying her girlfriend of six years; “ _It’s such a happy occasion, who would actually bother trying to ruin it?_ ”

Call it morbid curiosity. He’s got that in spades.

He honestly expected his note to have been removed entirely, not an entire response. Especially not one so protective of the book itself. It was written on the back of the original note, simply tucked behind the dust jacket with the tape removed. The handwriting was cursive, a little bit loopy, and cramped as if written quickly and with not a small amount of indignation. Crowley was delighted.

> To whom it may concern: This book is written to be a feel-good adventure, an exploration of “what if”s and a genuine desire to feel special and worthwhile. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wish-fulfillment. It’s a genre of its own and a long-standing tradition of storytelling as a pastime; it is invaluable for cathartic and self-exploratory purposes. Never, ever feel ashamed of a wish, even if it may only exist on the page.
> 
> Now, I don’t know if the author of this little tirade will ever see this reply, but if you hadn’t noticed there is a sequel in which Jalonya’s motivations are made clearer, it might even improve your opinions of Haden. Though if this much of the story has failed to endear yourself to him, I doubt any further information will be at all successful in moving your stubborn arse.
> 
> I’m not sure what “TLDR;” means but please in future refrain from making snap judgements about a series with incomplete data. The sequel is named “Delas Alche;” please do read it before leaving any additional commentary.
> 
> Finally, please refrain from leaving tape in the books. Removal damages them.

Oh, it was _on._

* * *

  
Before he left the library that day with another novel and a book on the proper care for roses, Crowley spent half an hour scouring the shelves for a copy of this supposed sequel. When he didn’t find it, he bit his tongue and bought a used paperback online for £4.50. He was determined to read exactly what it was this unexpected interlocutor was talking about and hopefully prove them wrong, and he took a certain sort of thrill from the knowledge that this was absolutely ridiculous and completely unnecessary. Yet it felt a bit like the beginning of a cheesy adventure. A stroke of luck, a pinch of kismet.

And Anathema said it wouldn’t end well. It was just getting interesting!

The sequel was - as expected - garbage, but he did see what the replying note had been referring to.

Jalonya’s past, her family, and the debt she’d acquired definitely did explain her sticking around even when she wasn’t sure herself what to feel. And Haden had an unexpected realization and a development arc in the second act that genuinely surprised Crowley. K’tor also got a redemption arc, which Crowley made sure to complain about as much as possible (“Why did he need that? He was a perfectly fascinating character in his own right, and he wasn’t even exactly a villain in the first place. He may have had a different moral compass but that’s what makes things interesting. What’s to enjoy about life if you’re all the bloody same? You can’t really help each other grow like that.”).

As soon as he was done, Crowley slipped back to the library after work, and returned the other novel with the newest notes taped inside. Along with his thoughts on Delas Alche, he went on at length about “Memineris Diei Nebula”, the other novel he’d checked out.  
  


> It reads like a preschooler threw a bunch of words in a blender, took a scoop to dissolve it in water, soaked a blank book in it overnight and their parent dropped the soggy remains on the publisher’s desk because they didn’t have anything better to show them and were just desperate to meet a deadline.
> 
> There’s no substance here; the story is watered down and uninteresting. I spent an entire 40 minutes in chapter 8 just trying to figure out what Miranda was doing with the horse and whether or not it was actually important to the plot, or just designed to draw attention away from the fact that she was a walking paper doll.

He was quietly hoping this would spell a pattern.

* * *

  
What followed was several weeks of hastily checked out books, gleefully written reviews, and plenty of thoughts about the nature of whoever it might be who would be so quick to defend a book so (in Crowley’s opinion) terribly written.

> I have to admit, at first I was _really_ excited about this series. Listen, “Born to Raze”, what a title! 
> 
> We didn’t get to see enough of Manny and Akidi, but it was nice to have them. Tyler’s hearing aid was a nice touch as well. I’d have hoped for at least one canon enbie or some queer women but didn’t notice any - possibly a minor gripe, I’ll say it anyway.
> 
> But what really had me going was these superpowers.
> 
> The whole subplot and mystique around Indihe’s powers was a stimulating draw; I had to know- Where do they come from? What do they mean? What’s going to happen? I was wracking my brain the whole time trying to figure out exactly how the final showdown was going to look! (Side note: I don’t think I will ever forgive the author for what happened to Laurie- unbelievable.) And the action scenes were very emotional- some surprisingly impressive personal decisions there, overlayed with the comically exaggerated violence one comes to expect from the superhero genre. 
> 
> I was not, however, satisfied with the origins of her powers. A star? Really? I understand that for the sake of a well-delivered fantasy story: there’s a certain degree of trust built-in that the readers are willing to maintain a level of suspension of disbelief- but as someone who has spent much of my life studying the stars: I absolutely refuse to swallow this.  
> There are plenty of things that come from the stars, plenty of things that level of power can create or spread through the universe; why in the absolute fuck would magic like that have any business being one of them?

* * *

> I do agree that should Manny and Akidi have entertained a larger portion of the plot (including more of their domesticity instead of their clearly antagonistic roles) I would not have complained. However I do think they were successfully portrayed as people- flawed but trying their best in a difficult and complicated situation. Perhaps arrogant, but I’ve met people they remind me of- that in itself gives them life. Those habits and quirks exist, they’re just a little more real. It’s refreshing.
> 
> I won’t deny you have a point with your “gripe” but there’s nothing for it now, and I’m not quite interested in trying to excuse or explain it.
> 
> Regarding stars: I’d argue it was perhaps far more poetic than you give it credit.
> 
> There’s a certain magic to the stars- a wonder, an awe, a curiosity. Humanity has always looked up to the sky and wondered what was out there. What the lights were, and who might be looking back. It’s an ancient, bone-deep respect we’ve carried for countless generations. That kind of magic doesn’t come from nowhere, and under the right circumstances, would be more than powerful enough to change the world.

Crowley put the note down in his lap, cross-legged and leaning back against a bookshelf in the library. “I never thought of it like that,” he whispered to himself. “How does your mind work like that? Seeing the magic in things. Must be nice.”

Maybe, whoever it was could teach him.

* * *

It went on for some time. Crowley would check out a book or three, read them carefully, research for sequels to cover his own arse, and then write scathing reviews to be tucked inside before dropping them in the slot, usually on his way home after work.

It didn’t always work. Sometimes it was unfamiliar handwriting, mostly a “get over yourself” or something equally dismissive. He didn’t mind those too much. Other times a note in a book would be removed when he went to check, or just left there for several weeks until Crowley gave up checking and took it back. 

After about two months of seemingly random replies, Crowley got annoyed and started keeping track of where and when the notes were successful. Two months more and he’d figured out that books dropped on a Monday, Wednesday or Friday night were more likely to get through. Most likely because whoever kept finding them worked Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday.

Crowley would claim it was for privacy that he began to avoid going in on any of those days. To preserve the mystery, his identity, to feel less like a stalker. Whoever it was clearly seemed to enjoy this secret little game they had going. He would not admit it was shyness, or a steadily growing fear that this little connection was a short-lived fantasy, doomed to a sudden and anticlimactic end.

> **_The Blue Jay fell from the Rooftop Singing_ **
> 
> You know, you bring up a fascinating question about how Jenie makes her decisions, I hadn’t noticed that on first read.
> 
> Now that you mention it, it really does remind me of Hamlet, have you read it? I know its ubiquity and fame in the world of literature has led to countless such comparisons, but not everyone has actually read the play itself nor had a chance to attend a performance. (It’s a personal favorite, I’ve been to several performances and I own a very battered copy I reread every winter.) Her questioning of the parson’s motives does carry a similar ambiguity. The candle could have meant anything, but what does she do with it? What does it mean to her, and those around her?

* * *

> _Of course_ you’d like the gloomy ones.
> 
> I’m not convinced on the parallel, but if there’s one thing you should know about me, I _will not_ pass up the opportunity to shit talk Shakespeare.
> 
> Never liked Hamlet. It’s far too whiny, the man’s too afraid of his own shadow to get anything done until it’s too late, and I _know_ Ophelia deserved better.
> 
> Plus- where the hell were the pirates? You can’t dangle pirates in front of me and not tell me more, I feel baited! Teased, put on! Disappointed! I’d pay quite a lot to see exactly what went down on the way back to Denmark.
> 
> What does fascinate me is the nature of the Ghost, no matter what the interpretation something fucked up is going on.
> 
> If it truly is the king returned from Beyond or whatever, he’s advocating for his own brother’s death, pitting more violence within the family and setting his son on a path of revenge is never a healthy solution to a problem.
> 
> If it is a demon, it’s an impressively detailed and beautifully laid trap. On one hand, he chooses to do nothing, and has to live with the guilt of possibly letting his uncle get away with murder; on the other he kills in the name of vengeance and damns himself.
> 
> Either way he never knows for sure. Either way it leads him to destruction. Either way he’s tormented with the ambiguity, the doubt, the niggling reminder.
> 
> Quite a masterful temptation, that.
> 
> I will agree that Jenie does handle the candle incident very similarly for the first few days, melodramatic and torn. And yeah she has her doubts, however, she actually manages to make a decision and act on the situation before someone gets hurt. I didn’t expect that decision, and the look on Tim’s face I imagine was priceless, but it was quite impressive to watch her pull things together last minute. I like her significantly more than Hamlet. Though I have to stress, that’s rather a low bar.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes for the reader:  
> -The books mentioned, "Born to Raze", “Blood Moon Empress”, “Memineris Diei Nebula”, “The Blue Jay fell from the Rooftop Singing”, “Delas Monja” and “Delas Alche” are entirely fictional and the events mentioned are not intended to resemble any existing published works.  
> -Title is from Titus Andronicus, a Shakespeare play that I have yet to read, but someone suggested the line and it was just too perfect.  
> -I don’t actually know how many sections this will have, but with the average length and current draft, a generous estimate will be around 8-10. We shall see. (Sections will be posted as different chapters because that’s how AO3 works but they don’t feel quite like chapters)
> 
> Content Notes (this story is not entirely finished so these are subject to updates): food, smoking, discussion of death (in the context of Shakespeare or books), mention of hospitals, “Appletini” as an animal name.


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